Daring Dixon (A Daryl Dixon fanfiction)

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of it's characters. I am simply a fan trying to let other fans enjoy the same things I do!

Hey guys! This is the first TWD Fanfiction I have ever written. I hope you like it! Don't worry, later in the story there will be lots of Rosaline Daryl action! I just wanted everyone to get to know Rosaline before I went into a full fledged love story. Enjoy!

The Atlanta humidity suffocated me like a boa constrictor squeezing his prey. I looked around me, surveying the office I was in. It reeked of decomposing flesh and blood, although I had made sure that it was clear of walkers before I had slept here last night. Or tried to sleep, anyway.

Sighing, I made sure I had all of my things packed before hiking my pack onto my back. I drew my gun, slowly unlocking the door from the office and stepping out. I walked quietly through the room to a hallway, which I followed until the end, where I cracked open the door and slowly made my way into the room.

The stench in this room was twice as bad as that of the office I was in. Investigating, I found two dead walkers on the floor and a trail of blood heading to a stairwell. A thump startled me, and through an open door I could see four men approaching the room. I hid behind a beige couch, gun still drawn, hoping to God they weren't walkers.

They came into the room, talking, which for a moment made me breathe a sigh of relief. But then I thought of what four desperate men would do to a woman alone at the end of the world. My heart rate quickened, and I kneeled there, hoping they would leave.

Crouched behind the couch, it was easy to hear their conversation, even if I couldn’t actually see them.

"Had enough in him to take out these two sumbitches. One handed. Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails," said a gruff voice with a definite southern accent.

"Any man can pass out from blood loss, no matter how tough he is," said another voice, whose accent was slightly less prominent. He was definitely native to the south, though.

The light footsteps told me that there were more than the two who had just spoke to one another. I peered out from behind the couch slowly, only letting one of my eyes see what was beyond the couch. An Asian, a black man, a redneck in a sleeveless shirt and crossbow, and a man in a sheriff's uniform. The man with the crossbow turned in my direction, and I quickly hid back behind the couch. But I knew it was too late. He stomped across the room and grabbed my by the arm, pulling me up. His grip on my arm was so tight, I was sure he would leave a bruise.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.  

"What's it to you?" I demanded, pulling my arm from his grasp.  

"Give me that," he snapped, pulling my gun from my unexpecting hand.  

"That's mine!" I shouted.

"Daryl," the man in the sheriff's outfit warned.

The redneck, Daryl, handed me my gun back. "Thank you," I said sarcastically, shooting him a dirty look.

"My name is Rick Grimes," said the man in the sheriff's uniform. "This is T-Dog," he said, gesturing to the black man. I nodded to him. "Glenn," he said, gesturing towards the Asian, "And I guess you've already met Daryl," he said.

"Rosaline," I said as way of introducing myself.  

"Nice to meet you," Rick said, offering me his hand to shake. I eyed it skeptically.  

"I don't mean to interrupt this little meetin', but I'd like to find my brother, if you assholes don't mind," Daryl interrupted. He eyed me. "You seen any one handed men lately?" Daryl asked gruffly.